


d.c. al fine

by cappuccinoir



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: 5.3 spoilers, Gen, canon-compliant major character death, emet-selch makes an appearance but i don't think it warrants a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:09:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29733684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cappuccinoir/pseuds/cappuccinoir
Summary: From the beginning until the very end.
Relationships: Azem & Elidibus (Final Fantasy XIV), Elidibus & Emet-Selch (Final Fantasy XIV), Elidibus & Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)
Kudos: 6





	d.c. al fine

**Author's Note:**

> written for [musica universalis](https://twitter.com/MusicaZine), a ffxiv charity zine. thank you so much for having me, it was an honour to be a part of this project!

The concert hall is empty when Elidibus sweeps into it. Given the hour, it does not come as a surprise. 

It is fortunate, then, that it is not an audience he seeks tonight. He walks briskly past the empty stands and onto the stage where the grand piano sits — white and ever-so pristine, glossy lacquer glinting beneath the stage lights. With a small flick of his wrist they go out one by one, until the sole remaining one lies directly above the piano. 

Satisfied, he settles down at the bench, letting his hood slip off and his mask dissipate in a swirl of aether. His hands settle on the keys, and he allows himself just a single moment to prepare before it begins — music and aether entwining into song. 

On some days, his fingers would practically fly across the keys as he played trill after trill. On other days, they would sink into them instead, playing low, heavy notes that reverberated throughout the hall. Tonight, however, he plays a mixture of both, weaving the more lighthearted notes with a steadier baseline of chords. 

_Like them, a fleeting, yet constant presence, a contradiction_. They are almost never present at Convocation meetings, but at the same time — when they return, it is like they had never left. 

So caught up is he in his latest composition, he almost fails to hear it — a series of slow claps that echo throughout the hall, followed by footsteps he recognises all too well. 

“Azem. I wasn’t aware that you had returned.” He keeps his voice level, trying very hard not to sound like a child who had been caught sneaking into one of Akadaemia Anyder’s many off-limit areas. It is not like they would know who this piece is meant for, but it still flusters him either way. 

“I just arrived, actually,” they grin, throwing out their hands in a way that reminds him of the recently-appointed Emet-Selch, “and I brought you a gift!”

He inclines his head — an invitation. It is subtle, but it is an invitation nonetheless. _Take a seat._

Still chattering away, they make their way towards him. The door closes behind them, a dull thud echoing past the stands. The hems of their robes are dirty, frayed in some places and straight out torn in others. Their hair, poking out from beneath their hood, is a veritable mess of tangles. None of that fazes them as they plop down next to him, graceless and carefree as they pull out a stack of sheet music.

“Here!” they hand them to him with a dramatic flourish Elidibus is pretty sure they’ve picked up from Emet-Selch, “I’ve got quite a haul this time, heck — I even asked around for some of the less well-known songs and managed to get them transcribed.”

“You have my thanks.” Elidibus would not call himself a hoarder, per se, but any additions to his already massive collection of music are more than welcome. 

They watch as he carefully arranges the stack neatly on the top of the piano, idly playing a few notes as they fidget in their seat — a halfhearted attempt to mimic Elidibus’ earlier performance. Their hands are unsteady, tentatively resting on the keys like they’re unsure if the piano itself was going to bite them. It is a clear sign of how out of their element they are, for someone who readily threw themselves into chaotic situations with nary a plan (let alone a backup plan) to be this cautious. 

“Relax, tensing up your body will only make it harder to play,” he tells them, and makes a quiet hum of approval when he sees the tension quite literally drain out of their shoulders. They try again, brightening up when the notes sound significantly less choppy than their earlier attempt.

“Will you play it again?” they ask, eyes shining like the stars above them, and really — who is he to refuse when his muse is right in front of him? 

* * *

The passing of Solus zos Galvus is a fairly straightforward affair, all things considered. There is none of the bloodshed and tragedy that surrounded the fall of Xande, instead — the emperor of Garlemald will pass away peacefully, having lived his life to the fullest. 

It does not stop Elidibus from opening a rift to one of the most heavily-guarded chambers in the imperial palace anyway, just for his own peace of mind. The emperor is alone in his chambers, although Elidibus can sense the aether of at least a dozen guards close by. 

“Oh?” Even in the aging vessel of Solus zos Galvus, Emet-Selch manages to look and sound as snarky as ever, “Here to play me a lullaby, most esteemed Emissary?” 

“If you wish.” Elidibus is, of course, no stranger to these games of wit and words, or Emet-Selch’s roundabout way of requesting for things. He does not wait for a response as he conjures a simple piano with a flick of his wrist. 

Music, like most of his other hobbies, was something he had not allowed himself to indulge in since the sundering. Perhaps, he muses, part of him was glad that Emet-Selch had provided him with an excuse, flimsy though it may be. 

As requested, he plays a lullaby — a low, sombre tune, reminiscent of the elegies Emet-Selch had always been so fond of, and is satisfied when the Architect lets out an involuntary sigh as the first few notes drift into the air. 

Out of all of them, Emet-Selch had been at work the longest, toiling tirelessly to create and bring down entire empires. His rest, Elidibus thinks, is well-deserved. 

“Goodnight, Elidibus,” the tiredness in his voice is genuine.   
  
“Rest well, Emet-Selch.”

The last few notes of the melody taper off as Solus zos Galvus breathes his last. 

* * *

Amaurot is as Elidibus remembers it. The streetlamps flicker to life as he walks past them, towering over his current form. _They’re designed to activate after sunset, to decrease energy consumption_ , he remembers Mitron saying. 

For a moment, he is overwhelmed by nostalgia as his gaze sweeps across the streets — even the Cubus that had roamed the parks had been replicated to a terrifyingly accurate degree. The shades recognise him to an extent, faded imitations of people he had once known calling out greetings and warnings as they relive the final days. _Their_ final days, he reminds himself with a tad of bitterness. 

This time, unlike his previous visits, the Emissary is alone. 

_Emet-Selch truly has outdone himself_ , he thinks with no small amount of melancholy. For Emet-Selch, no — Hades, is no more, felled by the warrior of darkness. Elidibus had been there, had felt the exact moment his core had shattered, just like he had felt Lahabrea, Igeyorhm, Nabriales— 

He is the only unsundered left. 

(Much like the original, this Amaurot too, is destined to fade into the past, hidden away from mortal gazes in the bottom of the sea, becoming nothing more than a distant memory.)

The mask vanishes, and for the first time since the fall of Amaurot, the Emissary allows himself to grieve, a sombre melody spilling from his fingers as he plays — a requiem for those he had lost, for those he could not save. Theirs was a path soaked in blood and sacrifice, but it was and still is the only way forward. As the Emissary, it is his duty to see it through. 

Their hopes, their wishes, their dreams — he would bear them all, even as his back creaks and his spine splinters beneath the burden of an entire star. He had to. 

The lid of the piano falls shut with a gentle thud. His brief moment of self-indulgence over, the Emissary rises, letting aether wash over his physical vessel. White robes dissipate, revealing an outfit more suitable for the hero whose face he is wearing, whose body he now puppets as he plays his final hand. 

After all, he has one last performance to give, and there is no better way to fight a warrior of darkness than with a warrior of light.

* * *

It is over. 

Elidibus remembers now, tattered memories of his brethren filling the gaping void that had once plagued him as he clutches the crystals to his chest and sobs. 

_Stay strong. Keep the faith. At duty’s end, we will meet again. We will. We will._

The warrior of darkness has not moved from their spot in front of him. 

“Elidibus,” they whisper (why are they crying? they _won_.), and when he does not respond, begin to hum. It is a stilted, broken melody, riddled with uncertain pauses, but there is only one other person — one other soul — who would know that song. 

He raises his head, and finally, _finally_ , Elidibus truly sees what Emet-Selch, blinded by grief, must have seen. What he, blinded by duty, had refused to see.

“Azem,” he breathes. Their soul is fragmented in places and much, much dimmer than he remembered it being, but they are _here_ , they have been here — right in front of him this whole time, and— 

“I promised you, didn’t I?” they smile through their tears, “That we’d meet again. At duty’s end.” 

—they remembered. 

He has so many things he wants to say to them, but he’s running out of time. 

_I’m sorry, I’ve missed you, I—_

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says instead, and lets the Lifestream take him.

For the first time since the Sundering, Elidibus is at peace. 

**Author's Note:**

> i still haven't recovered from 5.3


End file.
